Sowing All in the Field of Green-O
by stefanie bean
Summary: Anton the Giant has prepared the field to start the new crop of magic beans. But in order to reap, one must sow. And to sow requires an ancient ritual. Takes place right after the episode, "Tiny." Some non-explicit sensuality. Complete.


**Sowing All in the Field of Green-O**

After the giant Anton and the dwarves had finished preparing the field, they stood in a tired cluster, rubbing their sore hands.

"Drop her in the hole, then," Leroy, the chief dwarf said.

Anton took from his vest pocket the tiny vial in which rested a glowing green sprout. Sun edging over the western hills cast its last rays on the glass, making it glint red. "No," he said. "Not yet."

"You gotta be kidding me," one of the dwarves said. "I've had no luck in this town for months. Believe me, I've tried."

"Speak for yourself," said another, the one called Happy.

"Bugger off, pretty boy."

"Come on, Tiny," another dwarf said to Anton. "Cut the crap. Just stick her in the hole and be done. Then we can all go home."

"No," the giant said again. Well, he wasn't exactly a giant in Storybrooke at all, but had been a giant in his own world. Not much of one, though. A failure in every respect, when you come down to it. Cheated by a pair of wretched lying human scum, guilty for the deaths of his brothers at the humans' poisoned hands. Couldn't even do his job as Protector of the fields of the Beans of Life. Now, here he was at the end of the day, having prepared another field in this village called "Story-brook," in the kingdom the locals called "Main." Maybe this one wouldn't end in death, carnage, and heaps of destroyed plants, of death-salt sown into the earth instead of life.

"Thanks, guys," Anton said. The dwarves punched each other in the arms, their typical way of saying good-night, but the giant just turned and walked back into the village, scraping mud off his feet onto the hard sidewalks as he went.

Anton headed towards the place where he'd eaten earlier that day, the ale-house they called "Granny's die-ner" (though there was no sign anybody had died there.) Tired as he was, his appetite rumbled through him.

The sun had fallen completely now, leaving the streets deep in shadow. The way had seemed plain before, but he must have turned left when he should have gone right, or maybe the other way around. No matter, he couldn't find Granny's anywhere. He told himself that the first person he met on the street, he'd ask for directions. After all, they'd helped him earlier, hadn't they? It would have been easy for the humans to just let him drop into that terrifying hole. Anton shuddered at the memory of the cold, dank air which had wafted up at him as he'd dangled over the pit, straining to hold on, arms ready to give out at any second.

Maybe up here. This street looked a little familiar even in the rapidly approaching dark. But Anton found himself in a different neighborhood now, one where the buildings were far shabbier and closer together, with no welcoming gardens out front, and few trees. He forgot about the curb and almost tripped, then stopped, agape.

There was another "die-ner" on the corner, whose front door was made of worn, unpainted wood, and whose display window was far smaller than Granny's. But a warm light glowed from within, scattering across the glass window. So much glass here in "Story-brook," everywhere. These people whom he had joined that very morning, who had saved his life, must be rich as kings with all this glass. Where he came from, glass was as valuable as gold, and rarer. Not as precious as beans, though.

Besides the spread of glass, and the golden welcoming light, from inside came the rich smell of cooking rolling with spices, ladled with the yeasty odor of hot bread. His mouth watered.

As he swung the door open, a small bell tinkled.

"We close in five," a woman's voice called out from the kitchen. "I can give you what's left to go."

When he didn't say anything, because he had no idea what she meant, the kitchen doors swung open and the woman emerged. The look of annoyance on her face changed to surprise. "Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself."

"I heard about you. Ruby Lucas came by earlier and told me all about it."

The beautiful woman named after a gem, who had served him ale. "I'm Anton. Tiny," he said with a small laugh. "Will you take gold for some grub?"

A wide smile brightened her face. Her rich brown hair had only a few sparkles of silver in it, and only a few wrinkles embroidered her eyes. The apron pulled tight against her generous breasts, as well as half-way across her wide bottom.

"Mom?" another voice came from the kitchen.

"Out here, Alexis."

A slip of a girl about sixteen came through the kitchen doors, blinking her wide doe eyes. "Wow," she said to Anton. "You're the one who made the big hole over on Dock Street."

"Yeah," he said in embarrassment. "That was me."

The woman gave Anton a long, warm look. Something clicked in her face, a recognition, a decision. To her daughter she said, "Take the truck home and make sure Bonnie and Bluebell get milked. I'll walk."

"It's gonna be dark, Mom."

"You think I never walked around town before at night?" the woman answered as she gave her daughter a kiss, shooing her out the door. Then she turned the sign hanging on the front door from "Open" to "Closed."

"I'm Brigid," she said, offering her hand to Anton. Then, in a slow careful voice she asked, "Do you know who I am?"

He stared at her hand for a heartbeat. He knew. Then to her he lifted his own hand, crusted with dirt from the field.

"Did you plant it yet?" Brigid asked. "Ruby said you were going to."

Anton had seen that first glance which went over him like a flood of warmth, even if he hadn't believed it. This one, if possible, carried even more weight. She must have been working over the hearth before he arrived, because her skin glowed red and he could feel the slight waft of heat from her cheek, very close to his. "No," he said in a soft voice. "Not yet."

She pulled back a little, a bit flustered and hesitant now. "I see." Then she took his hands in hers and said, "Well, you can't sit at my counter like that. Come on, the bathroom's over here."

"Bathroom?" he said, following her.

"You mean-" Brigid said, laughter in her voice. "I've never been there. Where you came from, I mean. I guess things are different. But here, well, there are laws. Health codes."

She stepped into the unisex bathroom after him. Between the two of them, it was a tight squeeze. "Look, here's the soap," she said, and amazingly, it flew out of a silver box mounted in the wall. The porcelain fountain with silver handles squirted water from little jets. He turned the one on the left, stuck his dirt-covered hand under the stream, and yanked it away at once. "Ow!"

She added cold water to the hot. "It's OK," she said with a smile, filling her hands with soap and taking his up again. "I had to show Alexis, too. Of course, she was a toddler then." The brown mud washed away as she rubbed his hands and forearms, pulling aside his long embroidered sleeves. He didn't want it to be done right away, but soon it was. "You're going to have figure out the loo for yourself," she said with a laugh in her voice as she wedged her way around his big body, out the door.

When he came back to the counter, she had set out for him a steaming tureen of lentil-carrot chili and a hunk of wheat bread. "Butter?" she offered, but he shook his head.

"So, um," Anton said in a voice suddenly unsure. "You don't, uh, have to get home to Alexis's father?"

"She doesn't have a father."

"Oh, I'm sorry. So he's, gone or something?"

In a soft, dreamy voice she said, "Can the wind ever be said to be gone?"

His eyes grew wide but he said nothing, just pulled the bread apart and sopped up the stew with it, watching her out of the corner of his eye when her back was turned, as she scrubbed the counters. When he finished he looked appealingly at her, and she served him again, then a third time.

He set two thick gold coins on the counter. "Is that enough?"

"It's on the house, Anton. Think of it as a thank-you for the new industry you bring us." Then Brigid took off her apron and stood very close to him, so that he could smell her warm fresh scent. He didn't know what to say, afraid he'd stammer tongue-tied as he had in the past, but it turned out he didn't need to say anything at all.

"I'm glad you didn't plant it without me," she said. "Come on."

The night was cool, although a sea breeze had blown in enough warmth that it wasn't cold. He took her hand in his, not sure what to do next. A pale bright moon, fat but not yet full, hung over the bean field and dusted the newly-turned earth with silver. Even though only one shoot was to be sown, the dwarves and Anton had dug up the entire field, cutting deep furrows into the black earth.

She took off her coat.

"Aren't you gonna be cold?" he said, suddenly worried.

"I'm never cold when I rest on my Mother. And there will be you to cover me."

At that, his cheeks flushed bright red in the moonlight. She reached up around his head and undid the string which bound back his long hair. It fell all down around his shoulders and she fluffed it for a moment, breathing it in.

Then she showered kisses silver as moonlight onto his mouth, and after awhile piled her clothes and his carefully onto her coat laid out upon the ground. By that time he wasn't thinking of the moon any more, or the cool night breeze, or how the rich black earth supported her body when she stretched out into one of the furrows, arms open, legs spread wide. He leaned over her, ready, oh so ready.

She bore his weight and cried out to the stars.

Then, after he had serenaded the heavens with his own wild cries, he rolled over and pulled her on top of him, first brushing the dirt off her back, then stroking, just stroking for the pleasure of it as she lay on his breast, both of them covered by a quilt of stars and the comforting blanket of the night.

"You sure aren't tiny," she finally said, when she had the breath to speak. "I think I'll just call you Anton."

He laughed then so that his big body shook under hers, and in his face something appeared which had not been there for a very long time. Hope.

"I guess it's time," he said.

She sat back on her haunches naked in the dirt, a little cold now, but this was the most critical time of all, and the stars needed to cover her skin, not fabric.

From the vial he shook the tiny green shoot onto his broad palm. It was just a baby, but in that sprout rested a whole world. Stalks woven together like green ropes would grow, thick enough to join the worlds, that was true. But even Anton's people (if there were any left, but best not to think about that now) didn't know all that these uncanny green plants could do. All they had known was that they were to be guarded, to be protected, as if they were the greatest treasure in the world.

And here it was, the last of its kind, maybe like him. But it would grow. It had to.

"Brigid," he said in almost a whisper. "I can't do this alone. Will you help me?"

For answer she put her hand on his. Together they poked a hole into the soft black earth. Together they rested the sprout in its new home, shoot-side up so that on the morrow it would point towards the sun. Together they patted down the dirt, but not too firmly.

Long ago he had sown salt, and tears. Now, under this moon, he had sown life. Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be the start of something better.


End file.
